


The Funvee

by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)



Series: Imagine Tony & Bucky [67]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Arc Reactor Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hate to Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Survivor Guilt, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 09:57:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5329916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span class="small">Prompt: AU where Bucky was one of the soldiers in the humvee with Tony in the beginning of Iron Man. He survives the fight, but loses his arm, and when Tony finds out Bucky is alive after the events in IM, he desperately tries to win Bucky's forgiveness while Bucky (initially) wants nothing to do with him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Surviving a near death experience was weird. That was the only word that came to mind. Tony vacillated wildly between highs, and lows, but with everything going on, he was mostly able to shove his unwelcome feelings into the background, and focus on his New Life. When you built a badass, flying suit and became a superhero almost overnight, you were definitely allowed to abuse capital letters when talking about your life.</p><p>Tony was pretty good at ignoring it, though, because, well… Iron Man. Too busy. Too important. Too many wrongs to right, and people wanting to get their grubby hands on his sexy tech, so there was always a reason to do or think about something other than the flesh and blood Tony Stark’s problems.</p><p>Right up until he didn’t have a choice, anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Funvee

**Author's Note:**

> Combined with: Can I get some Arc Reactor pain with Tony? Anything’s fine. Just Tony has this massive hunk of metal in his chest and there has to be some kind of pain or shortness of breath or susceptibility to lung based illnesses. I think you may have done something similar once upon a time and I’m just looking for similar stuff. If you have any suggestions on where I can find other stuff that would be great too!

“Another one bites the dust,” Tony sang under his breath, giggling as he chucked an emptied bottle of criminally expensive scotch into the recycling bin. The laughter was shorted lived, which was a good thing, considering it sounded a bit too much like crying for Tony’s comfort.

Based upon the way the room was spinning, the following day was going to be painful. Hangovers at least let him pretend he felt like shit because of being an irresponsible asshole, which was preferable to the reality of being poisoned. Added bonus, they made it easier for the people who saw him to dismiss his obviously deteriorating condition, and to generally walk away from him in disgust.

Not that he  _wanted_  Pepper to be disgusted.

Much.

Dum-E wheeled over, smoothie in hand, and Tony twitched, just managing to keep himself from snatching up the drink to hurl it against a wall. The act of kindness  _hurt_  in ways it shouldn’t, made his stomach churn with guilt. Or maybe that was from all the scotch.

“Get it outta my face,” Tony insisted imperiously, waving a hand as he staggered over to the nearest garbage can.

There was a lot of heavy breathing, sweating, and swearing, but he managed to hold onto his stomach’s contents, so there was something for the win column, at least.

Everything was going off the rails.

Eyes squeezed shut, Tony fought off a whimper, clinging to the sides of the trashcan as if it could save him somehow. He tried desperately not to think of angry gray eyes, and an empty sleeve, or the smell of the hospital.

Tried to push away, if only for a minute, the understanding that he was  _running out of time_.

It didn’t work.

+

Before all of  _that_ , though, Tony had been doing okay. As okay as could be expected, anyway.

Surviving a near death experience was  _weird_. That was the only word that came to mind. Tony vacillated wildly between highs, and lows, but with everything going on, he was mostly able to shove his unwelcome feelings into the background, and focus on his New Life. When you built a badass, flying suit and became a superhero almost overnight, you were definitely allowed to abuse capital letters when talking about your life.

Stane’s betrayal left him hollow, and aching, but he was simultaneously so pumped full of _purpose_  that Tony felt more alive than ever before.

Even with the nightmares.

Even though his chest ached almost constantly, and sometimes his inability to take a full breath left him thinking of the cave, and the car battery, and strong, unforgiving hands forcing his head back under the water.

Tony was pretty good at ignoring it, though, because, well… Iron Man. Too busy. Too important. Too many wrongs to right, and people wanting to get their grubby hands on his sexy tech, so there was always a reason to do or think about something other than the flesh and blood Tony Stark’s problems.

Right up until he didn’t have a choice, anymore.

“Wait,  _Pep_. Pepper. What are you talking about?”

He could hear her sigh through the phone. “The other survivor, Tony. I thought you might want to—”

“Right, stop, back up.  _What are you talking about_?” He was sweating, and his heart felt like it was beating in his throat, where it definitely didn’t belong. “There weren’t any. I… I saw them, Pep, they were in pieces.”

A soft, pained intake of breath, and Tony had to squeeze his eyes shut and hold the phone away from his ear for a moment, because Pepper shouldn’t feel sorry for him about seeing that. No one should. It was his fault that it had happened in the first place.

When he was able to, he brought the phone back to his ear, scrubbing a shaking hand over his face.

“He doesn’t have any family,” Pepper was in the middle of saying, and Tony couldn’t decide if that was supposed to be good or bad news.

“Okay, sorry, I lost you for a minute,” Tony mumbled. “This guy got a name, or what?”

Pepper’s voice was steady, and patient in a way that let Tony know she understood he was freaking out, but wasn’t going to call him on it. “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.”

Anticipating his request, JARVIS was already running searches, and pulling information up on a nearby display. Handsome, clean cut, ghost of a smile hovering around his mouth, even in his Military ID photo.

“Why am I just hearing about him now, Pepper?”

She ignored the indignation, the biting edge to his voice, and began to calmly explain why, but Tony tuned out her reply. The words were being drowned out by other input. Someone had taken photos. Hacking into the system to retrieve them was child’s play for JARVIS, and so Tony was left to sit in his chair with wide eyes, and a trembling mouth.

He felt cold upon realizing it had been another person’s  _job_  to go to the scene, and document it. Sand soaked with blood. Bodies, pieces of bodies, shattered and ended young men and women. Tony didn’t throw up, but it was a close thing, because instantly he could _smell_  it, could hear it as if he was reliving the experience.

Sensing his physical response to the stimuli, JARVIS shifted the photos out of sight, a feed of information on the Sergeant taking its place. They’d only recently brought him back to the United States, and he was still in a veteran’s hospital.

Tony scanned the information, not even realizing he’d dropped his phone, consumed by what he was seeing, reading. In addition to other injuries, Barnes had lost his left arm. Hadn’t been stable enough to move for quite some time, due to blood loss, and infection, and they’d had to keep cutting away, and…

When Pepper arrived to check on him, Tony wasn’t in the workshop, he was at the bar, trying to drink himself into oblivion.

+

The idea caught up with him while he was showering, of all things. If he could build a flying suit of armor, building a replacement arm couldn’t be that much more difficult, right?

Tony headed back into the workshop, and cleared away the plans for the Stark Expo reboot he’d been obsessed with only hours before. That seemed petty by comparison.

Having a project made it a bit better, but he needed more data, knew for the prosthetic to be perfect he’d have to go talk to Barnes. Take some measurements, get an idea of his current body composition, and the like.

Tony wasn’t an idiot. The most probable outcome was that Barnes would want him dead, although there was always the chance that the guy was crazy, or patriotic enough to think he’d just been doing his duty. Or maybe to just blame the Ten Rings for the loss of his arm, rather than Tony specifically. Maybe they could even bond over how much it sucked to get blown up. Stranger things had happened.

But the hospital was worse than he imagined, although everyone he spoke with was effusive, excited to have a VIP (their words, not his) in their midst, right up until they found out who he was there to see.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Probably a horrible idea,” Tony agreed, rocking on his feet. He’d kept his sunglasses on, because he felt safer behind them, and hands in his pockets, so no one could see them shaking. “Still needs to happen.”

And later, while a part of him wished he’d listened to their advice, there was another Tony Stark somewhere inside of him that basked in the rejection. In the hate. In the understanding that he wasn’t going to live long enough to make up for all of the ways in which he had  _colossally fucked up_.

Barnes was still handsome. Maybe more so than ever. Stubbled jaw, hair grown out and hanging over his face, half blocking him from view. When Tony walked into the room, Barnes was sitting in a chair, staring at a wall, expression entirely blank. His beautiful eyes had seemed empty, right up until they were full of hate.

James Barnes had transformed into this angry, snarling thing, his voice was raspy, and full of venom.

“Fuck. You.”

“Right, probably deserve that.”

He still moved fast, for someone in the hospital. Before Tony quite knew what was happening, there was a hand around his throat, and he was pinned to a wall, unable to breathe, and then things got really confusing for awhile.

Orderlies pulled them apart, the room spinning around him as if he was drunk, and Barnes was  _screaming_ , and Tony couldn’t breathe, was on his hands and knees. The moisture on his cheek wasn’t from tears—Barnes had spit in his face.

Words came back to him later, on the way home, and Tony had to land at the side of the road, because piloting the armor while sobbing hysterically just wasn’t a good idea.

“I had to listen to my friend die,” Barnes had growled into his face, his gray eyes wide, and bright, and full of pain. “I was pinned down like a fucking bug, and couldn’t move, and I hadda listen to him cryin’ for his mommy, like he was a little kid. Cryin’ for mom and wantin’ to know where his legs were, and chokin’ on his own blood, and I couldn’t do anything…”

+

He’d called it the “Funvee” and for some reason, that made it a thousand times worse.

+

At the bottom of another bottle, Tony took a moment to allow himself to admit that the area around the Arc Reactor was now visibly discolored.

It’d been uncomfortable the entire time he’d had it sitting there inside of his chest. Painful but manageable, at least. Now? It  _hurt_. It hurt to move, it hurt to stay still, it hurt to take a shallow breath, it hurt to attempt a deeper one.

There was a good reason why, of course. He was being poisoned by the Palladium.

Tony had been spending a lot of time pretending that he didn’t need to worry about that so much, because there’d be another element that would work, but the thing was, he was running out of options, and it was feeling worse every day, and…

He pulled up the wireframes for the prosthetic arm.

As far as distractions from dying went, it was a pretty good one. Tony was determined to have something to give Barnes, even though it wouldn’t make up for anything. And, apparently, he was running out of time.

So, back to work.

+

“Good. I hope when it happens, it’s slow, ‘n painful.”

That said, Barnes slammed the door in his face.

He was out of the hospital, and in a shitty studio apartment in Brooklyn. Tony figured dropping by to let him know that he was dying might cheer him up. He’d been smiling before shutting the door, so maybe it had, at that.

+

The next time he visited, he brought booze, and an early prototype of the arm.

“Still dying?” Barnes asked when he opened the door.

Tony had flown the briefcase armor, for practicality’s sake, and between that and the cases for the arm, and the tools he’d need to make adjustments, it looked a little like he’d shown up planning to move in with Barnes.

With a crooked smile in place, he yanked up his shirt, showing off the Arc Reactor, and the dark, insidious lines snaking out from around it. “A little faster every day.”

“The fuck is  _that_?”

The blue glow of the Reactor made Barnes look like a ghost.

“Classified,” Tony answered. “Wanna hear all about it?”

+

Drinking  _with_  someone was a hell of a lot nicer than drinking alone.

Barnes didn’t kick him out, which made no sense, but Tony wasn’t about to argue. They sat opposite each other at an old table with mismatching chairs, the place lit by a single lamp. Through the thin walls and ceiling they could hear his neighbors living their lives: loud music, a crying baby, a couple arguing with each other in Spanish.

James kept pace with him as they emptied the bottle, the furrow in his brows never shifting, even the few times he laughed. It was oddly cathartic, finally talking about what had happened; not the sterilized version, but every last awful detail.

“That’s fucked up,” James said, hours later when Tony’s story finally wrapped. He helped himself to the last mouthful of scotch. They’d given up on their glasses a while back. “Still kinda hate you, though.”

Tony was staring at the table, hunched forward, head propped in his hand. “Yeah. I get that. I hate me, too.”

“Shut the fuck up,” James said, kicking Tony under the table.

When he looked up, there were two of James, his vision swimming with tears and too much drink. He pressed the palm of his hand over an eye, resolving the double vision issue, and snorted.

“Make me.”

To his surprise, Barnes burst out laughing, head tipped back. He was still smiling when he met Tony’s eyes again, brushing the hair out of his handsome face. The furrow was finally gone.

“Nah,” he said, licking his lips. “You’d  _like_  it too much.”

+

Once Pepper was no longer in a panic over his absence, Tony hung up, and flopped back down onto the floor, feeling like he’d been hit by a truck. According to his phone, it was nine in the morning, but it was raining outside, and James had a view of an alleyway through his one and only window, so the studio was dark.

Tiny, shallow breaths. Trying to fall back asleep. God, but they’d put the thing  _deep_ , and at the moment, it felt like it took up his entire chest cavity.

“Yo, asshole,” he heard, the voice raspy, and coming from the futon that passed for James’s bed.

He grunted a response.

The sound of bare feet padding against the hardwood floor, and then he was yanked upright, the room spinning. Before he could panic, or try to compensate, or maybe just vomit, there was an arm around his waist, steadying him.

“What’s happening?”

It sounded more like “was hap'in?”

“C'mon, work with me here,” Barnes griped. Tony managed to get his feet and legs to comply, mostly out of fear. “If you puke on me, I’m shootin’ ya.”

“Seems fair,” Tony agreed.

And then he was lying down again, his aching body crying out in relief at the surprising softness of the futon.

“Don’t be a hog.”

Barnes prodded him with a foot, and Tony shifted over, snickering as he rolled, because he was definitely still drunk. Possibly hallucinating, because Barnes had climbed into the warm bed beside him, making it even warmer.

It had been a long time since he’d shared a bed with someone.

“I know,” James said, when Tony started crying. He didn’t move away when Tony pressed his face against James’s shoulder, feeling ashamed, but unable to stop the tears. “But believe me, you’re better off laughing, sweetheart.”

+

Every time they saw each other, James asked if Tony was still dying. Tony wasn’t sure when, exactly, he stopped smiling when given an affirmative answer.

+

“Stop wastin’ time on this stupid fucking arm!”

Barnes refused to let him test the new and improved version.

“Come on, James, it’s at least thirty percent better this time,” Tony swore. “Just try it, _please_.”

“Fuck you,” he hissed, but he swallowed after saying it, and there was something off in his frown. “You look like shit. Why aren’t you working on a replacement Reactor, or somethin’?”

Tony felt cold wash over him, but tried to act nonchalant when he shrugged. “Ran out of options. It’s sort of… inevitable, now. So, let me at least finish  _this_  before—”

Barnes punched him. Square in the jaw, too, hard enough to make his head spin, and send him reeling, and wondering if he’d lost a tooth. And while he was rubbing at his jaw, and blinking back the tears that’d sprung into action, James grabbed him with the arm he had left, and pulled Tony into a rough embrace.

“You don’t get to quit,” James said, the words loud, and full of emotion. He was shaking, and Tony brought his own arms up more to steady himself than anything else, but once they were there, he held on tight. Couldn’t help himself. And fuck if James Barnes didn’t feel like he belonged there.

James allowed it for a moment, but then pushed himself free, although he stayed close. He only allowed enough space for Tony to be able to see his face, how serious he was.

“You wanna make shit up to me, that’s how you do it,” Barnes insisted, his hand tight where it gripped Tony’s arm. “ _That’s_  what I want.” He placed his palm against the raised outline of the Reactor. “Fix it.”

“I don’t think I can.”

It was the first Tony had let himself acknowledge what had been clawing at the back of his mind.

“Well, you fucking better,” James all but shouted. “The rest of my friends are already dead. I’d like to keep at least one.”

+

James accompanied him back to California that night. “I hate that shithole, anyway,” he grumbled, gazing out the window as they took off.

“I dunno,” Tony said, staring down at the hand holding his. He thought of the futon, and waking to find James curled around him. “I kinda liked it.”

Beside him, James snorted. “You would. Asshole.” But he was smiling when he said it.

+

Pepper didn’t lecture him when Natalie ratted him out about his house guest, but she did call Rhodey, who in turn made an appearance at the house on pretense of celebrating Tony’s birthday.

“Heard you cancelled the party.”

“No, just refined the guest list. James, Rhodey. Rhodey, James.”

“Why does he get the first name treatment?” Rhodey asked. “You never call me James.”

James let out a rough little bark of laughter. “No one calls me James except this punk. Everyone else calls me Bucky.”

Tony ignored them, too busy attempting to identify the warm feeling churning through him, making his heart race, and his mouth go dry.

Later, with Rhodey passed out on his left, and James on his right, Tony was pretty sure he’d finally figured it out. Carefully, he brushed the hair back from James’s forehead, and if his fingers lingered against his cheek for a moment, no one needed to know.

+

“There’s something different about her,” James said, and Tony considered firing Natalie on the spot.

+

James didn’t bother with subtlety, just openly stared whenever Natalie was in the room. Tony watched him watching, feeling a bit like screaming.

“How’s the response?” he asked, drawing James’s attention away from the sway of Natalie’s hips as she left the room.

“Sluggish.”

James curled and uncurled the shiny metal fingers, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. It made Tony want to close everything down, pull out a bottle, instead. But James had pumped the brakes on all that, insisting Tony keep his mind clear so he could focus on solutions to his impending demise situation.

Absently, James pulled his hair up and back, the hairband sliding off of his wrist in one fluid movement. Tony was watching with such rapt fascination that he could see the lag between metal and flesh.

“Right, let me try something.”

He blinked a moment later, James now standing beside him, close enough for their arms to brush. “What do you know about her?” he asked, making Tony’s chest ache even more than usual.

+

Natalie and James stopped talking when Tony walked into the room. He clenched his jaw so tight that it made his teeth hurt, grabbed a cup of coffee, and locked himself in the workshop.

+

James stepped out of the shadows, scaring the shit out of Tony, his lips pressed in a tight line. “Hey, asshole.”

“Shit!”

James’s voice wavered between anger, and hurt. “You don’t get to shut me out.”

Tony tried to push his way past, but with no luck. Then he didn’t mind so much, because James crowded him against a wall, was pressed close enough that Tony could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against his own.

“Thought you and Natalie might want some time to yourselves.”

“You’re so fucking stupid,” James hissed.

The words should have stung, but did not, as they were said against Tony’s lips. James’s own were slightly chapped, but sweet, tasting of the fancy coffees he liked. Then they were gone again, leaving him breathless.

While he stood there gawping, James pulled a needle seemingly out of nowhere, and plunged it into Tony’s neck. He yelped, but whatever was in the needle was making him feel  _better_.

“That’ll buy you some time, Stark,” Natalie said from nearby. “My boss would like to speak with you about finding a permanent solution.”

But Tony could only stare into James’s eyes, and marvel, fingertips pressed to his lips.

+

“Told you there was something going on,” James said, watching with narrowed eyes as Fury and  _Natasha_  left.

After that, James had a staring contest with Coulson. Amazingly enough, Tony was pretty sure James won.

+

Strange, the way things changed.

Tony rolled onto his side, watched as the sun began forcing its way in through the windows. It moved across the room slowly, illuminating the clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor. After twenty or so minutes, it made it far enough to shine onto James’s outstretched arm, his fingertips reflecting the light in beautiful ways.

“Stop watchin’ me, creep,” James muttered, but he made a satisfied noise when Tony curled against his side. “How you feeling?”

Tony stroked down James’s stomach, running his palm back and forth over the trail of hair running from navel to groin, tracing the muscles, enjoying the warmth.

“Like I’m not dying.”

And then he was pulled closer, had arms wrapped around him, and James’s lips against his own.

“We gonna keep it that way?”

“Hey, I think I did okay,” Tony protested.

James kissed him quiet. “Coulson thinks I should become an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D. Figured anyone that can get you to behave is a valuable asset.”

“We can be a power couple,” Tony murmured, far more interested in James’s mouth than in what he was saying.

“Dumbass.”

And later, Tony couldn’t help but ask, quiet, “still hate me?”

“Nah. I decided to love you, instead. Laughing always beats crying, sweetheart.” James threw a pillow at him. “Now get your lazy ass outta bed, Iron Man. If we’re late, Nat’ll kill us.”

Tony took the offered hand, and let himself be led to the shower.

He might have time again, but he was also a superhero. Anything could happen to either of them, so Tony was determined to spend however much time he had left making James happy.

It seemed like a pretty good way to live a life.

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely kuro-ecchi over on tumblr requested this get added to AO3 sooner than later, and who am I to deny such a request?! Slowly managing to get my stuff onto here between everything else. Yikes, backlog!! XD
> 
> Meanwhile, I've written my 100th Imagine... story for the blog! It posts tomorrow, I think? And, um, might just be Bucky/Tony/Winter Soldier. *cough*


End file.
